


and i said, "hey, what's on your mind?"

by dxntdxdrxgs



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Baptiste is Soft, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Romantic Fluff, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 04:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dxntdxdrxgs/pseuds/dxntdxdrxgs
Summary: Lúcio has a hopeless crush on Baptiste who absolutely does not realize this, and ends up breaking a heart along the way. Thankfully, with the help of Hana, the boys get their heads out of their asses one way or another.((This fic deals with PTSD and will have one very graphic death scene involving a child, take caution.))





	and i said, "hey, what's on your mind?"

**Author's Note:**

> booptiste is so fucking soft dont @ me ok

Lúcio remembers the day they drug Baptiste from that debris like it was yesterday. 

 

He also remembers the sight of the man, towering tall and powerful with his gun raised toward Talon without an ounce of fear; the children cowering behind Baptiste had screamed when he threw out an immortality field and shoved them away from him, taking the brunt of a rather nasty explosion in their stead. Of course they knew who he was immediately, thanks to Sombra, who was now carefully playing both sides of the war. Talon would kill her, or try to, if they ever found out and so she took protection from Overwatch in exchange for the constant stream of info she dumped out into the world. 

 

Sombra had been eager to give up everything she knew about Jean-Baptiste Augustin, scowling when she’d told the Overwatch team of how infuriatingly  _ good _ he always was, even when he was killing. Every civilian that had fallen to Baptiste while he was in Talon had been killed with terrifyingly painless precision and even the deadest of hearts called him soft until you pissed him off. Sombra tutted and told Jack that he had simply been manipulated in that expert Talon sense; he was given the promise of a cause, and security, and a way to work his way to the top of the food chain in their fucked up world. 

 

Lúcio can’t imagine the man who’s sitting beside him now to be  _ that _ man at all. Baptiste was a kind soul with a warm heart and he didn’t care to share it with anyone he came in contact with. Really,  Lúcio found it endearing how one could go through  _ so much _ and still be willing to give his last breath for people who would be satisfied to watch him rot six feet under. Baptiste followed orders that he saw righteous and if they didn’t fit with his cause, he’d simply smile at Jack and tell him he would be going on his own path for the next mission, to ping him if he needed him, and then he’d exit the office and give  Lúcio and Hana each a warm smile a piece. 

 

Hana was very in tune to  Lúcio and his internal struggle, always had been. She watched her friend and the way he seemed to follow Baptiste in the most adorable of fashions, though the amount of times he complimented the other man was mind numbingly boring and painfully obvious to his plight. She’d watched  Lúcio fall once, eyes wide and cheeks hot, before Baptiste gently pulled him up and rested a hand on his shoulder to bend down and peer in his eyes. She faux gagged when  Lúcio giggled, all nervous and far too lovestruck for his own good. Baptiste didn’t seem to notice, at least not in the moment, and he simply gave  Lúcio a clear look and blew a polite kiss in Hana’s direction. 

 

“You excited?”  Lúcio asked, eyes flicking to his right, where Baptiste was fiddling with the tech on his left leg. He peeked up, eyes wide and blinking. 

 

“Huh?”

 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,”  Lúcio murmured, “just asked if you were excited.”

 

“To go back to Haiti?” Baptiste asked, smiling gently and swinging his leg back over, wiggling it. “No! Not one bit!”

 

Lúcio laughed at the other man’s chipper nature, and Baptiste returned the action with a chuckle of his own. 

 

“It can’t be  _ that _ bad,”  Lúcio grinned. 

 

“I do not miss it,” Baptiste said matter-of-factly, “I was always more of a France man myself. Seeing my home war torn and destroyed only made me anxious.”

 

“Oh,” the smile dropped, “yeah, I know what you mean. Kinda.”

 

“Vishkar was not kind to Brazil,” Baptiste nodded, “you understand my past more than most,  Lúcio.”

 

The smaller of the two bit back a grimace at the mention of Vishkar; the pain flooding his mind was drenched with images of his father and the families the corporation had torn to shreds, his own included.  Lúcio remembers when Symmetra had agreed to join Overwatch and how hurt he’d been that she had faced zero repercussions for her actions. Then again, he remembers that McCree’s story with Blackwatch is almost identical and he keeps his judgments reserved. In the end, he turned out to like her quite a bit, more than he ever expected to. She always enjoyed his music.  

 

“I can empathize, I guess,”  Lúcio muttered. 

 

“You’re still young, still hurt, but when you get to be my age you’ll understand that you’ve done all you can and the world has emerged a better place because of it,” Baptiste says sincerely, resting a hand on  Lúcio’s arm. 

 

“Maybe for you, but I’ve not done that much.”

 

“You’re famous, a peace symbol. Millions of people look up to you.”

 

Lúcio glances down at his legs and frowns. “You’ve done a lot more than just skate and play music.”

 

“So have you, mon amour.”   
  


Lúcio doesn’t say anything but Hana coughs from beside him, eyes wide as she discreetly motions between the two of them. Baptiste catches her eye over  Lúcio’s form and he smiles innocently, patting the smaller boy once before he departs again. She gives  Lúcio the hardest smack to his chest that she can physically muster, shooting off in what he assumes can only be enraged Korean.

 

“What?” he whines, rubbing his sore pectoral. 

 

“He just  _ flirted _ with you!  _ Mon amour _ ,  Lúcio, you’re already in  _ mon amour _ territory!” She cried, eyes wide. She refused to believe  Lúcio was actually this dense. 

 

“What does that mean…?”

“Oh my God, you’re hopeless!”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The Haiti mission went about as well as one would expect, with Baptiste quite literally blasting the head off four Talon operatives before he even left the transport. He’d run headfirst into every fight and drug  Lúcio there with him, whose leg braces were whirring in protest every time he tried to speed up. He never said a word to the man, trying to alternate between healing and speed boosting them, though it was hard because it was like Baptiste was solely out for blood, no matter what the cost. He was tirelessly murmuring about the kids they were ruining, the innocent lives they were taking, and how Baptiste had been on both sides, he’d been there, he-

 

Lúcio managed to catch him before he collapsed, grunting at the weight and straining as they both went down on their knees together.  Lúcio winced, pulling the other man closer to try and quell the shaking in him. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely petrified at Baptiste’s current state, considering that the man only ever pushed himself and never broke under the pressure. Today had been one of the “I don’t agree with you, Jack” days and Lena had begged  Lúcio to make sure their newest member didn’t get overwhelmed or killed due to the high concentration of Talon agents in the area and he’d very eagerly accepted that task, not missing the small, sweet smile that had played on the older man’s lips when they got paired up. 

 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

 

Baptiste collapses to the side and huffs, bringing  Lúcio to awkwardly lean over him as he hits the ground. The Brazilian is terrified at this point. 

 

“I did not think it would be this  _ hard _ .”

 

“You’ve pushed yourself to your absolute limit, Jean,”  Lúcio says breathlessly, tossing his sonic amplifier lightly to the side as he quickly slips his biometric scanner out to take a reading on the Haitian. “Your- Your sugar is 83, Baptiste! Have you eaten anything since last night?”

 

The other man’s nostrils flare as he tries to catch his breath, eyes searching the rubble to his left. 

 

“I’m older than you,  Lúcio, and I’m not here to be lectured on my eating habits.”

 

“ _ Then why didn’t you eat? _ ”

 

Baptiste flinched, brow furrowing as his eyes locked on  Lúcio’s.

 

“Sorry, am I  _ inconveniencing _ you, grenouille?”

Lúcio scowled, anger and exhaustion mixing in his chest and spilling out his lips, “Está me assustando!”

 

The foul look slowly melted from Baptiste’s face and he stared at the other man’s in acute horror, reading and searching his expression like his life depended on it.

 

“You’re frightened?”

 

Lúcio’s bottom lip trembled and he nodded quickly. “Yes, Jean, yes! You- I’ve never seen you do this! And being short with me when I’m only concerned? What the hell is wrong?”

 

The older of the two took a steadying breath, leaning up on one arm and reaching for  Lúcio’s face with the other. His palm rested, warm and grounding on his cheek, eyes shining as he took in the fear that pervaded the air they shared. 

 

“You have nothing to fear when I am only, clearly, making an ass of myself.” Baptiste feels  Lúcio’s cheek warm and smiles fondly. “I have not acted my age today, have I? You’ve been so very brave.”

 

“Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

 

“I feel like it’s my duty to put an end to what I helped cause,” Baptiste sighed.  Lúcio raised his own hand now, mirroring the other’s action. The older man’s eyes widened and he stiffened minutely, clearly used to giving affection, not receiving it. 

 

“Talon was here far before you, okay? Don’t shoulder all this by yourself.”

 

Baptiste frowns, eyes flicking back up to  Lúcio.

 

“Okay.”

  
  
  
  
  


Lúcio really fucking likes moqueca. In fact, as far as stews go, it’s hands down the best one he’s ever tasted,  _ especially  _ as far as fish stews went (who the fuck liked clam chowder? Well, who the fuck other than  _ Lena _ ). He also knew that almost no one other than Sombra could read his mother’s recipe well enough to somewhat translate it, and well, he figured if they couldn’t put that effort in, then no one deserved to make the dish. That was, until Hana got the recipe off him and he found a very frazzled Baptiste sounding out each word and going through a Portuguese dictionary in the middle of the empty kitchen in their wing of the Watchpoint. 

 

An actual, physical, Portuguese to English dictionary.

 

Baptiste had never gone to a real school, and thus he struggled to even get out a proper report in English, let alone French or any other language. He told them Reaper had taught him how to read and Jesse had stiffened with some sort of pained look on his face.  Lúcio reminded himself to ask about that later, but for now, he just watched with fond eyes as Baptiste muttered to himself. 

 

“P-Pei... xe?” His eyebrows shot up and he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“It means fish,”  Lúcio called out, causing the other man to jump so hard he nearly dropped everything he was holding.

 

“ Lúcio!” Baptiste smiled nervously, shoving the contents of his hands behind his back, “what, ah, how long have you been-?”

 

“Why did you send Hana for that recipe?”  Lúcio asked, chuckling and taking the paper from the other’s hands. He could translate it just this once, couldn’t he? Baptiste had tried so hard. 

 

“Well, I, I was an ass the other day, yeah? I just wanted to make it up to you and Hana said you had this recipe from your mother for your favorite stew, and I’m an excellent cook I  _ swear, _ and I thought I’d do it for you. Make it, that is, and Hana told me the ingredients beforehand but said I needed to translate the rest and, I-  Lúcio, I can’t exactly read much other than English.”

 

“You were willing to do all that for me?”  Lúcio cooed softly, eyes softening at the way the normally confident Baptiste crumbled. 

 

“I’m out of practice,” he mutters, “I’m an old man and I-”

 

“You’re only thirty-six!”  Lúcio laughed and the other man sputtered. 

 

“W-Well I feel old! I have wrinkes!”

 

Lúcio snickered at that, pulling out his tablet and typing out the recipe in the simplest terms he could. Baptiste watched him, eyes catching  Lúcio’s mouth when the boy’s tongue poked out past his lips in concentration. It was something so small, so endearing, so insignificant, that Baptiste felt as if he should look away from the sheer intimacy of it all. It made him feel privileged, the way the evening sun cast shadows through the window and reflected on him, on his arms and his face, dancing over his form, highlighting some features while hiding others from his prying eyes.  Lúcio was humming absently and his hips swayed minutely, and Baptiste decided that no, he absolutely could  _ not _ look away- not now. He was absolutely enamored by the boy, and oh so thoroughly fucked, wasn’t he?

 

“Here you go,”  Lúcio grinned, handing his tablet over. Baptiste took it delicately.

 

“I can write this on paper and give your tablet back.”

 

“I thought, well, I thought I might sit in here and keep you company?”

 

Baptiste’s eyes widened and he took a moment to recover, failing to hide the excitement on his features.

 

“I would like that,  Lúcio.”

  
  
  
  
  


Baptiste never had the sort of sexual awakening most people had. He liked men, always had, and he assumed he always would. He didn’t exactly hide it either, and after McCree had hit on him jokingly several times and he’d invited the cowboy out for dinner, everyone else figured it out too. Thing was, he didn’t care for Jesse  _ like that _ and he knew, deep down, he didn’t have those feelings, at least beyond the physical side, for Baptiste either. He wanted to try though, try anything to make his brain stop fucking thinking about  Lúcio.

 

Hana pulled Baptiste aside and told him  Lúcio was straight, as far as she knew, but that he was always welcome to try and see if there was anything there, that she supported it, as if the nineteen year old’s support would make or break his decision. He’d realized that  Lúcio probably saw him more as a mentor than anything, and he absolutely wasn’t going to take advantage of that, but then there was the fallout after his date with McCree that he  _ really _ was not expecting.

 

Lúcio was avoiding him like the plague, for lack of a better term, exiting the room whenever Baptiste came in, never sitting with him in the transport like he used to, and even when Baptiste made some pão de queijo and slid it in  Lúcio’s room, the boy maintained his silence. Baptiste was beginning to wonder if he smelled or something, because that cheese bread was to fucking  _ die _ for, or at least that’s what Hanzo had told him, albeit more refined than that. He just didn’t understand what was happening.

 

He was also beginning to fray a bit, the stress from another mission in Haiti weighing on his mind and causing him to wake up screaming. It was very simple, he told himself, just a simple bout of night terrors and really, anyone could handle that, couldn’t they? 

 

He caved one night, deciding to head to medical to take Angela up on her offer for some sleeping pills to finally give himself a good night’s rest. He didn’t like relying on medication too much, already having to have regular sessions with a biotic pack every two days to ease the joint inflammation in his left leg. It was bad everywhere, but concentrated there, and he fashioned himself a hydraulic leg brace specifically to keep the weight from bearing down on his heel and shooting pain up into his knee. It helped him jump too, which was an added bonus, he supposed.

 

Gibraltar was quiet and Baptiste cursed at the night chill as he walked out of one of the permanently opened loading bay doors. The sea always chilled the wind enough to cut through whatever you wore, and the sweatpants and tight black t-shirt Baptiste had on really did nothing to keep his body heat in. The air made his body ache and feel stiff and he thanked god he left his brace on over his pants, not sure if he’d have made it otherwise. 

 

Medical was devoid of any staff, other than Angela, Brigitte, and Ana, though the latter of the two rarely slept there. He only knew Brig was there due to the large orange tabby sitting on her desk, staring at Baptiste with a pair of dopey, expecting eyes. He groaned. 

 

“I do not have food for you, kitty,” he murmured, inching closer and scratching the animal’s chin gently. It purred immediately and he chuckled, frowning at the sight of  Lúcio’s sonic amplifier. “Did Brigitte finally snap and kill him?”

 

The cat chirped. 

 

“Yeah, you’re right, she likes Hana too much to kill her best friend. What a smart  _ chatte _ , hm?”

 

She mewed softly and he gave her a final pat on the head, gently rubbing his thumb and forefinger over one of her soft ears. The lights to the PT room were on behind Brigitte’s desk, so he assumed that’s where he would hopefully find her or Angela. He preferred to see the eldest doctor, but if she wasn’t there, he knew Brig would find a way to get him some relief, even if she wasn’t allowed to give explicit medication to their team yet. 

 

He stepped through the door frame, her cat making a noise and hopping down to follow, almost tripping Baptiste as she wrapped around his ankles. 

 

“I am too big,” he whisper-yelled, “I will crush you, petit.”

 

When he looked back up, he froze.

 

Lúcio was out of his normal gear, bracing two rails as he struggled to walk with his bare legs, prosthetics from the mid shin down in a dark metal, not quite mimicking a human’s limbs. Baptiste watched the sweat gather on the boy’s brow, the determined look never leaving his face as Brigitte beamed at him, urging him on. Angela was standing behind them, tapping enthusiastically on a tablet as  Lúcio made more and more progress. 

 

Baptiste felt like an absolute fool for never realizing that  Lúcio had been disabled earlier. And Christ, skating like that in Haiti to keep up with Baptiste… How much pain had he caused him? He felt his stomach drop as he spun around to leave, feeling like a filthy intruder. 

 

“Mr Augustin!”

 

Angela’s voice seemed to shock both him and  Lúcio, both of them spinning around and making eye contact. Baptiste opened his mouth, but  Lúcio was scrambling to run and falling with a yelp before he could explain himself. He jumped to action, the medic in him, he rationalized, telling himself he would’ve had the same reaction to anyone else. But this wasn’t  _ anyone else _ , this was  _ Lúcio _ . 

 

He grimaced as he knelt, pain blossoming across his left leg, brace more obviously a brace now. No one ever questioned it when he was in tac gear, but he knew they would now. He didn’t care, though; no, he only cared about gently laying a hand against  Lúcio’s sweat slicked arm. 

 

“I don’t want your pity! Get off me, Jean!”

 

“ Lúcio, I-”

 

“Why are you here?” Brigitte asked, tugging  Lúcio toward her protectively. Baptiste opened his mouth again and  Lúcio cut her off.

 

“Fucking leave me alone!”

 

Baptiste watched Brigitte help him up, brow furrowed until they made their way out of the room and she slammed the door, leaving the medic crumpled on the floor in a position that he wasn’t quite sure he could get up from. Angela didn’t even know about the arthritis, apparent when she spun around and pinned him with a malice filled look.

 

“This was private, Mr Augustin! Now, get up,” she growled, low and threatening. He looked down in shame.

 

“I can’t,” he whispered.

 

“What?”

 

“I said I can’t!” He yelled, tears coming to his eyes as he blinked them away rapidly, swatting at one that dared to fall. “I was coming to you for sleeping meds, after another night terror, and the office was empty. The light was on, the fucking door was open.”

 

Her face softened and she knelt down, tilting her head. 

 

“Why did you never consent to a physical?” She inquired quietly, “why can’t you get up?”

 

He ignored her and reached up to grab the bars, hoisting himself up with some effort. He stumbled after, trying to hide the way he obviously favored his sore leg, the limb trembling with effort and his brace making an obvious whirring noise as he adjusted it. Angled grabbed his bicep.

 

“Wait, Baptiste,” she bit her lip before continuing, “he could use someone like him, who struggles like him.”

 

“You want me to play role-model for a boy who will crucify me the next time he lays eyes on me?” Baptiste scoffed, “he’s been avoiding me for a week and this  _ obviously _ will not help my case.”

 

“He’s got it bad for you,” Angela said softly, patting his arm where her hand rested, “I don’t think he took the whole McCree thing easy.”

Baptiste froze.

 

“He what?”

 

Angela’s brow furrowed, “he’s absolutely lovesick, Baptiste.”

 

Oh  _ no _ . 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They hadn’t spoken since that night and  Lúcio told himself that he was okay with that, and that he was saving himself a whole world of heartbreak and that was that. But of course, the Haiti mission came up again, and again Baptiste had basically given Jack the finger and resigned himself to being stuck with  Lúcio. The Brazilian was currently sitting as far away from Baptiste as possible, and when the transport landed he made quick work of getting off before him, leaving the Haitian to scramble along after him. 

 

They went slower than last time, much to  Lúcio’s annoyance, because he felt like he was being coddled. 

 

“Slow down,” Baptiste grunted, warmth suddenly wafting through the sticky air.  Lúcio grumbled.

 

“Regenerative burst? Really? I’m not made of glass.”

 

Baptiste winced on his next step and frowned, “I know.”

 

They’d been in Haiti for four days, traveling from place to place, saving who they could and driving Talon out to the best of their abilities.

 

“Then why are you-”

 

Baptiste was on his ass now, sweat dripping from his hair as he leaned forward to grip his left leg at the knee. “I need a moment,  Lúcio.”

 

“Did you get shot or something? What’s wrong?”

 

Baptiste frowned, eyes drifting up to  Lúcio as he slowly unclipped a piece of gear from his leg. 

 

“Do you know what this is?”

 

“Uh… no?”

 

“It’s a leg brace,” Baptiste explained.  Lúcio stared at him. “I have arthritis,  Lúcio. My left leg was hurt when I was in Talon, it flares up worse in my knee there. I’m not trying to pity you.” 

 

Lúcio’s eyes widened. 

 

“You— I, I had no idea, Jean.”

 

“I don’t exactly advertise it,” he shrugged, “and anyway, you’ve treated me like a leper the past two weeks so I wouldn’t expect you to notice.” 

 

Lúcio’s chest hurt and he looked to his feet in shame. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“Don’t apologize, grenouille,” Baptiste smiled lightly, “it is alright.” 

 

“I just—” Lúcio paused, tapping his right foot impatiently, frustrated with being forced, by himself, to vocalize the inner turmoil he’d been dealing with. “I was jealous. Of McCree.” 

 

“Oh.” Baptiste tilted his head. Then it clicked. “Oh, Lúcio…”

 

“I know it’s dumb,” Lúcio sighed, “eu sei que sou idiota.” 

 

“Did you just call me an idiot?” Baptiste quirked an eyebrow. 

 

“No!” Lúcio laughed, “no, I… I said ‘I know I’m stupid.’ ”

 

“But you’re not,” the other argued, “in fact, I’m afraid  _ I _ was the idiota.” 

 

Lúcio giggled at how odd that sounded with a Haitian accent. 

 

“Hana told me you were straight,” Baptiste stated like it was just  _ that easy _ .

 

“I am!” Lúcio scoffed, “or… was. I thought I was. And then you started being all— all fucking  _ Baptiste _ on me and I melted. You just, god, you just fucking exemplify everything I want! You’re infuriatingly handsome and every time you smile,  _ I  _ want to be the reason you’re doing it! And you’re— you’re so sweet, despite all the shit Talon put you through! I know you probably think I’m just a stupid kid, but…” 

 

Baptiste watched Lúcio wring his hands. He laughed. 

 

“Ma petite grenouille, what will I ever do with you?”

 

“What’s that mean?” 

 

“My little frog.” 

 

“You’ve been calling me a frog this  _ whole time _ ? You dick!” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Baptiste had been totally kosher with Lúcio, really, he had. They were taking things at a snail’s pace, both contented to do so, and so he was rather shocked to find the younger man curled into his chest like this, head tucked under Baptiste’s chin as he snored softly. A movie played on the holo in front of them, voices low and accented in French with Portuguese subtitles flickering on the bottom of the screen. It was stupidly cheesy to say, but this just felt  _ right _ , like this was where they were both destined to be. 

 

Baptiste willed himself to stay awake and couldn’t, eyes sliding shut as his head fell back gently. His body felt warm all over. Nothing could ruin this. 

 

Nothing but a night terror. 

 

The air was hot and stuck to his skin, dirt and grime caked to him as he struggled to force himself onward.  _ Fuck Talon,  _ he’d thought spitefully. Fuck the people who left him here to rot just because he had a wounded leg. He knew they weren’t a family, that Talon was ruthless and every man for himself, but he figured they might have had at least a little empathy for the man who’d saved their asses more than they could count. 

 

He stumbled upon a large building and entered, leaning back against the wall nearest to the door, head thumping back against the concrete dully. 

 

“Who are you?” 

 

His eyes slipped down to the small form directly in front of him. A little boy, eyes wide as saucers as he clutched a small stuffed bear to his chest. He had cuts on his face and was bleeding far more than he should’ve been. 

 

“Hey, buddy,” Baptiste said slowly, wincing as he forced himself to lean down to the kid’s level. “Where’s your parents, petit homme?” 

 

“Ils les ont tués,” the little boy sniffled, “those mean people with the red masks came through the town while we were asleep a-and—”

 

Baptiste angled his left arm away, hiding the large logo from the boy. 

 

“It’s alright, now. You’re safe. I’m a doctor, okay? Your parents always told you to trust doctors, didn’t they?” 

 

The boy nodded hesitantly, inching closer. “My head hurts…” 

 

“That’s okay,” Baptiste reached out and gently moved his hands through the kid’s mess of matted curls, probing gently. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy. I promise.” 

 

The little boy looked up, grinning softly, ear to ear. 

 

“Thank yo—”

 

He should’ve known to keep him away from the window. 

 

The bullet struck him right behind his right ear and destroyed his skull, sending brain matter splattering all over him as the kid slumped forward, right into Baptiste’s arms. He screamed, shaking harder than he ever thought possible, dropping the body and standing, back hitting the wall again as he peeked through the window. A flash of purple made his heart sink. 

 

“Jean, we do not have time—”

 

“Il était un enfant!” he screamed, voice hoarse as Widowmaker swung into the empty space, eyeing her kill coolly. 

 

“Il était une distraction,” she shrugged, “j'ai résolu le problème.” 

 

His body was moving on its own accord, swinging to the side so he could dry heave, getting nothing but empty air to leave him as he groaned. Amélie grabbed him by the back of his neck, skin cold against his which was  _ far too hot _ , roughly jerking him upright. 

 

“You are getting  _ sloppy, _ Jean-Baptiste. You know what Doomfist would have me do to slackers.” 

 

“Reaper wouldn’t let you,” he chuckled lowly, sir rasping weakly part his lips as his chest struggled. Amélie smiled, devoid of any real feeling behind the motion. 

 

“You think he truly cares for you? Oh, combien naïf.” 

 

Baptiste looked away, taking a ragged breath. Everything was on fire, his skin, the world around him. Everything was too hot and he couldn’t breathe anymore, not covered in this innocent child’s blood, not—

  
  
  


“Jean!” 

 

He gasped, lurching forward and headbutting something solid, which yelped in response. 

 

“Lúcio? Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he blinked and felt tears fall, confused as to how they’d gotten there. 

 

The room was dark and they were in Lúcio’s quarters, the blinds open to reveal a dark and moonlit sky. The Brazilian himself was sitting back on his ass on the floor, blood gently trickling from his nose, which made Baptiste want to absolutely crawl in a hole and die. He felt his bottom lip quivering, the terror of the dream still fresh in his mind intermingling with the guilt from accidentally hitting Lúcio. 

 

“Hey, no, it’s okay!” the smaller boy scrambled to the side table, shoving two tissues in his nose, leaning back to give Baptiste a cheesy grin. “We’re medics, remember? All patched up!” 

 

“I ruined everything. You— you were asleep and happy and I—”

 

“Couldn’t help what happened,” he said gently, coming closer and resting a gentle hand over Baptiste’s rapidly beating heart. The other man stiffened slightly, melting immediately after, when Lúcio rested his other hand on his cheek. “You’re safe now, soldado.” 

 

Baptiste let himself cry. 

 

Lúcio wicked away his tears and moved around so that he could pull Baptiste into his lap, his head resting there as he hummed to him slightly. The older man slowly came down from his scare, eyes a bit more vacant now. 

 

“Wanna talk about it?” Lúcio asked quietly. 

 

To his shock, Baptiste nodded. 

 

“Do you know who Amélie Lacroix is?” 

 

“Widowmaker?” Lúcio inquired. At the head movement, he continued, “yeah, I know her. She shot through one of my dreads once.” 

 

Baptiste went deathly still. “ _ What _ ?” 

 

“I got out of it! I’m okay,” Lúcio assures, “continue, darling.”

 

Baptiste’s face warmed at that and he reveled in that. 

 

“She has no heart. Really, she’s… cold as ice, doesn’t care who she kills or why. Once we were in Haiti, occupying and destroying neighborhoods that harbored independent sentiments, and I got wounded. I found a little boy.” 

 

Lúcio shushed him gently, dropping his hands to his lap as Baptiste sat up and stared at him. 

 

“She shot him in front of me.” 

 

Lúcio’s face softened. “Oh, Jean…” 

 

The older man shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes, taking a stuttering breath. “I just want it to stop hurting, Lúcio…” 

 

In a moment of desperation, the other boy surged forward and pulled his hands away. 

 

“Kiss me.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Kiss me.” 

 

Baptiste wasted no time, surging forward and taking Lúcio’d face between his hands, holding him as if he were the finest china. Their lips met as chaste as well, no hint of lust, only painful longing as they moved in sync. Lúcio gribbed Baptiste’s wrists as if his life depended on it and he  _ felt _ everything the other man ever needed him to, all in that very moment. 

 

Perhaps he was just a little in love. 

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> i forgot what i had for half of these so these r rough translations also im a stupid american doin my best i know the syntax/grammar probably SUCKS  
> mon amour- my love  
> grenouille- frog  
> Está me assustando!- you're scaring me (thank u sm for the comment correcting me here !!!)  
> moqueca- a traditional brazilian fish stew that my ass is gonna be makin over spring break bc it looks bomb as fuck  
> peixe- fish  
> chatte- cat  
> petit- little one/small  
> eu sei que sou idiota- i know im stupid  
> idiota- idiot  
> ma petite grenouille- my little frog  
> petit homme- little man  
> il était un enfant- he was a child  
> il était une distraction- he was a distraction  
> j'ai résolu le problème- i solved the problem  
> combien naïf- how naive  
> soldado- soldier


End file.
